


Happy Thanksgiving

by Countryole



Category: The Gifted (TV 2017)
Genre: Eclaris, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-06 02:15:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12807429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Countryole/pseuds/Countryole
Summary: It’s almost funny, seeing Lorna in the kitchen.In the six months he’s been here he’s not sure he’s ever see her cook anything. The most he’s ever seen her do is demand that he fix breakfast tacos while she watches and taste tests “for quality purposes”. Yet somehow she’s managed to prepare an entire feast, with a little help, for the entire Mutant Underground here in Atlanta.





	Happy Thanksgiving

**Author's Note:**

> AN: just some light hearted, fun Eclaris prequel fluff for Thanksgiving! I hope everyone got to stuff their faces today!! Even mutants have to eat turkey, right?

It’s almost funny, seeing Lorna in the kitchen.

In the six months he’s been here he’s not sure he’s ever see her cook anything. The most he’s ever seen her do is demand that he fix breakfast tacos while she watches and taste tests “for quality purposes”. Yet somehow she’s managed to prepare an entire feast, with a little help, for the entire Mutant Underground here in Atlanta.

Marcos watches her bustle around the humble HQ kitchen arrangements with Sonia, the two of them chattering back and forth, occasionally laughing about something Marcos can’t quite make out. From where he sits at the bar he’s got a pretty entertaining view. They’re giddy like two school girls, poking fun at one another and passing a bottle of wine between them. At one point Sonia almost drops a tin of rolls, and Lorna manages to save the day and safely float them to the bar top where he’s sitting with a flick of her wrist.

He picks one up off the plate, and takes a bite, meeting Lorna’s eyes from across the kitchen with a full mouth and a crooked smile. She shakes her head, but grins back.

“If you eat all of those, you’re going to ruin your appetite,” Lorna scolds, a knife points at him, floating in the air beside her, before it goes back to cutting the vegetables on the cutting board.

“I thought the point of Thanksgiving was to eat as much as possible,” Marcos stuffed the rest of the roll in his mouth, unapologetic.

“For some people yes,” Lorna raises an eyebrow, “but you do that all the time.”

He feigns an injured look of disbelief at her callus accusation, but they’re both laughing under their breath.

“Bring the rolls out to the dining hall please,” Sonia sings as she walks by with another serving of dressing in one hand, and a bowl of gravy in the other. She disappears through the swinging double doors, calling behind her, “and we need to go ask Johnny if the Turkey is ready!”

Marcos does as he’s told, but instead of immediately following Sonia out the doors, he walks over to Lorna instead. She’s poised over her cutting board, preparing the assortment of vegetables to be roasted for their meal, the knife slicing through them as if a ghost were in control of it. She watches him as he sets the rolls down on the counter top, and the knife comes to a stop and falls still.

“I do know the real point of Thanksgiving,” Marcos adds, sidling up to her, their arms brushing.

“Oh really?” Lorna peers up at him, green strands of hair falling from where she’s got it tied up at the top of her head, “and what’s that exactly?”

“Being thankful for what I have,” Marcos ducks his head, and without warning, steals a kiss from her, “which is you.”

Lorna’s taken by surprise, her face flushes, her pale cheeks red with warmth. When he tries to pull away, she reaches up and grabs the collar of his shirt, pulling him back for one more. If it weren’t for the fact that half of headquarters were on the other side of the doors just a few feet away, he would have kept kissing her for as long as she would allow it.

They’ve only been dating for a few weeks, and they agreed, for now, that it would be best to keep it to themselves until they found a good way to explain it to John and the rest of the team. It’s not an ideal situation, with Lorna being a station leader, but he’s almost certain most everyone knows anyways. They’ll figure it out when the time is right.

“Maybe later tonight,” Lorna smooths the front of his ruffled shirt with her hands, “I’ll reciprocate the thanks.”

“Mmm, maybe so.”

Marcos is trying to determine if he can get one last kiss, and he almost does, but the kitchen door swings open, and they both freeze.

“Good news, I already found Johnny and the Turkey is almost done. Marcos, I thought you were—” Sonia comes to an abrupt stop, her mouth hanging open as she observes the scene in front of her; which is her best friend and the man she doesn’t particularly like past pleasantries hanging all over her.

Lorna and Marcos separate, Lorna grinning from ear to ear, while he clears his throat awkwardly and retrieves the rolls from the counter top. He can feel Sonia’s eyes boring holes of fire into him far stronger than any he could conjure himself.

“I was just coming out,” Marcos offers, approaching her carefully, like one might approach a rabid animal.

“I see that,” Sonia’s eyes narrow, and she steps aside, holding the door open for him. She glances back at Lorna, some silent language passing between them, and it appears to dissuade the dreamer from committing any extreme acts of violence against him—for now.

“I’ll be out in just a minute,” Lorna goes back to chopping and quartering the vegetables as if nothing has happened, “will you make sure Shatter and Fade have the tables all set up? And Sonia…”

“Yes?”

“I’d be eternally grateful if Marcos didn’t go missing between now and then.”

Marcos chokes on air, eyes wide, stuck between the two women who’ve probably had too much wine in the last two hours, his hands full of rolls and no way to protect himself. The two friends fall into another silent conversation of intense staring that he can’t quite understand, and finally, resigned, Sonia sighs.

“Only because you’re my best friend,” Sonia waves a pointed finger in Marcos direction, turning to him, “but I don’t owe you any favors.”

Without further harassment, Sonia spins on her heals and heads back out the kitchen doors, and Marcos casts a forlorn glance over his shoulder to where Lorna still stands, bemused, waving at him to go. He does, but not willingly, unconvinced and with little faith that Sonia would hold true to her promise and leave him unscathed before the day was over.

When he makes it to the hodgepodge of tables all lined up in the HQ’s makeshift dining hall, even Marcos can’t help but be impressed by the spread lined out in front of him. The local stations all pitched in, gathering together here in Atlanta for those that could make it, and for once Marcos thinks they won’t run short on rations for a few weeks simply due to the massive amount of food they’d have left over from this feast.

“Over here,” Sonia calls, the red head waving to him insistently.

Marcos sets the rolls down where she gestures, listening to her ask Shatter and his crew if they can find more chairs. Marcos stands beside her, feeling out of place as he often does here, and he does his very best not to run screaming in the opposite direction when the others walk away, and they’re the only two left in the room. 

Once Sonia is sure they’re alone, her eyes narrow, and she turns back to Marcos with her arms crossed over her chest, fingers tapping in agitation along her arm.

“I’m not going to blame Lorna for not telling me,” Sonia tilts her head, “I’m going to blame you.”

“Sonia, I’m sorry, we just figured it would be better if—”

“Ah, no, no, we’ve had this conversation before, Marcos. Don’t apologize if you don’t really mean it.”

“Sonia, please, I know you don’t like me, but I swear—”

Sonia holds up her hand, holding it over his mouth, causing Marcos to move backwards, but there’s no where for him to go except into an exposed brick wall.

“Don’t put words in my mouth, I never said I didn’t like you,” Sonia corrects him, letting her hand drop, her arms no longer crossed, her eyes slightly less livid.

“Well, I could have guessed otherwise,” Marcos rubs the back of his head, trying to ignore the fact that he feels like a caged animal stuck between a hard place and the worst possible other thing; Lorna’s best friend on the verge of a rampage.

“I knew something was up, that she was doing something,” Sonia laughs, and then smirks, “I just didn’t know it was you.”  
Marcos can feel the heat rise to his face, and he shifts uncomfortably, which just amuses Sonia even more.

“Listen,” Sonia pats his shoulder, “I’m not going to do anything to you—”

“Yet,” Marcos adds, always prepared for the worst.

“Smart boy, you’re right,” Sonia grins, “I won’t do anything to you, yet, and while I have no doubt that Lorna is perfectly capable of handling you, just remember this; if you hurt her, I will make sure you spend the rest of your life regretting it.”

“Customary best friend threats aside,” Sonia adds, her voice and eyes softening, suddenly warm, “she has been smiling a lot more lately, so I guess I need to thank you for that. Take are of her, ok? She never lets anyone, but maybe she’ll let you.” Sonia squeezes his shoulder, offering him a first, genuine smile. He’s completely taken aback by the gesture, by the fact that she’s no longer glaring daggers at him. Still stunned, he nods, and Sonia rolls her eyes in exasperation.

“Don’t act so surprised, ok? I’m going to go help Johnny finish up the Turkey,” Sonia hooks a finger to the far window, where John and some of the other mutants were down in the yard frying a turkey, since the oven here wasn’t big enough, “I’m sure Lorna could still use some help in the kitchen.”

“Is this supposed to be your blessing?” Marcos asks. “Can I stop sleeping with one eye open?”

“Don’t get too far ahead of yourself, hot hands,” Sonia winks as she backs towards the door, “and Marcos?”

“Yeah?”

“Happy Thanksgiving.”


End file.
